


Follow me into the endless night

by CirrusGrey



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Episode 154 spoilers, Episode Related, Eye Trauma, Happy Ending, How about that, M/M, POV Alternating, Surgery, hey with this word count plus last week's story i've written 10k words about a single scene, it’s not very graphic but it’s there, just in case, not sure if this counts as eye trauma or not, rating is for swears, unrealistically fast recovery times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-30 00:30:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20805533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CirrusGrey/pseuds/CirrusGrey
Summary: When Jon first offered to tear out his eyes and run away from the Institute together, Martin almost believed him.





	Follow me into the endless night

**Author's Note:**

> Written mostly after 154 (because I am still not over That Scene), but influenced a bit by 155, so beware spoilers.

When Jon first offered to tear out his eyes and run away from the Institute together, Martin almost believed him. He didn't like Jon putting the decision on him, making him choose between letting the man he loved mutilate himself and possibly die or letting him turn into a monster, but he almost believed he meant it.

When Jon claimed it might be worth it to risk his life,  _ you and me, one way or another, _ his traitorous heart skipped a beat.

When Jon said it had been a stupid idea, that of course Martin wouldn't agree, a suspicion began to form.

And by the time Jon was leaning over his desk, gesturing desperately with one arm and ranting about derailing plans and  _ we _ and  _ we _ and  _ we... _ he'd realized what all this was about. 

"Who are you  _ kidding,  _ Jon?" It came out on a laugh, the first time he had laughed in far too long. "You're not gonna  _ do _ any of that."

Jon protested, of course he did. But as Martin kept talking his shoulders began to slump in defeat. 

"You don't want to blind yourself, you don't want to  _ die, _ what you  _ want  _ is a reason to  _ not  _ do those things. So... you come to me." Martin smiled, spreading his hands as he delivered the last words. "Well... you're welcome. Because I can't follow you on this one."

He sat there, smiling gently as Jon stood across from him fumbling for words. The smile was a lie, of course - an act of disaffected calmness hiding his tumbling thoughts and emotions. For a second - just a second - he'd really thought Jon meant it. Really thought the man he'd been pining over for years was running in to sweep him off his feet, a fairy tale ending to their grim story. A gruesome fairy tale, to be sure, but all of them were, if you looked too deeply into the history. 

But no. Just another example of Jonathan Sims trying to find excuses for his own behavior, even if that meant hurting the people around him. 

Jon took a deep breath, finally finding his voice. “I’m not asking you to  _ follow  _ me, Martin, I’m asking you to come  _ with  _ me. By my side. Together.” He spoke slowly and deliberately.

Martin tilted his head. “You kind of are, though.”

He expelled a breath through his nose, frustrated. “Fine.  _ Fine. _ Yes, maybe I  _ am  _ asking you to follow me." Another pause; he was taking time with his words, a conscious effort to not misspeak and be misunderstood. It made Martin's chest ache, just a little. To think Jon cared enough to be careful with him. Then Jon looked up, meeting his eyes. "I'm asking because I’m not leaving here without you, Martin. I’m not leaving you behind.”

Another missed beat; another ache to add to the list. "I know. And you know I can't go with you. Which is why you came to me; any of the others would be handing you the knife already."

_ "No." _ Jon sighed, placing both hands flat on the desk and bowing his head. His hair, disheveled and uncombed, fell forward over his face. Martin's eyes lingered on it as Jon spoke. "You're right. I  _ don't  _ want to blind myself. I  _ don't  _ want to die. But I  _ do  _ want to leave here, and I  _ am  _ willing to take the risk." He looked up again, hair falling into his eyes. He didn't bother to brush it away. "And the reason I am willing to take that risk is you. If Daisy leaves, if Melanie or Basira leaves, good luck to them and I hope they find a happier ending than they could here. If they stay, that's their choice, and I hope it doesn't kill them. But  _ you... _ wherever you are, I want to be. You lead, and I will follow. If you're set on staying here, then I sure as hell am staying too, because I am  _ not  _ leaving you behind. But if you leave... then I'll take any risk necessary to leave with you."

His voice was calm now, quiet and sincere. Martin closed his eyes, unable to meet Jon's steady gaze. His own voice trembled as he asked, for the second time that day, "Why?"

He heard Jon take a deep breath, hesitating for a moment before he spoke. "Because I'm in love with you."

Martin's eyes flew open. He pushed his chair back from the desk, standing so quickly it nearly fell to the floor.

_ "What did you just say?" _

Jon had stepped back from the desk as well - now he stared at Martin, eyes wide, breathing fast. 

"I'm in love with you."

Martin laughed, high and hysterical. "Since when?"

"Since- since a long time. Longer than even I've known, I- I couldn't tell you when it began." Jon swallowed, ducking his head. "I'm sorry. I know this isn't- it's not the time for this sort of thing. I didn't want to put this on you."

"Didn't want-" Martin's voice gave out, and he just shook his head, speechless.

"I don't want this to sway your decision. Whatever you choose, do it for  _ you,  _ not because- because you feel sorry for me, or something."

"Jon, if you-  _ why  _ didn't you tell me earlier? If you want me to leave with you so badly, why didn't you play this card  _ before?" _

Jon gave him a sad, hopeless smile. "Would it really have changed anything?"

_ "Yes! _ Yes, Jon. Because- god, how do you not know I love you too?” It came out on a despairing laugh. Martin raked a hand through his hair, fingers tangling in the curls.

“You-” Jon took a half step forward, stumbling over both his feet and his words, breathless. “You what?”

“I-  _ yes! _ How do you not  _ know?” _ Martin flung his arms wide, the universal gesture for ‘isn’t it obvious?’

Jon's mouth hung open. “I- I mean- I heard some, some  _ office gossip _ from Melanie and Basira, but I didn’t- didn’t know it was  _ tr-” _

_ “Office gossip?” _ Martin was practically shouting, caught between fury and confusion. Jon was an  _ Avatar of the Beholding. _ How could he be so blind? “Jon, I literally confessed on  _ tape.” _

“You  _ what? When?” _

“When- when Elias was trying to  _ torture  _ me, Jon! How did you  _ miss  _ that?”

“That-” Jon froze, gasping. “I didn’t know- I never heard- That was  _ recorded?” _

That took the wind out of Martin's sails. The next words came out flat and emotionless. “You never got the tape.”

“No!”

“Well.” He swallowed convulsively. “I guess that explains it.”

Martin shifted nervously. He didn't quite know what to say, now everything was out in the open. Jon was looking at him with wide, wondering eyes, and his heart was doing strange things in his chest.

“Martin-” Jon shook his head, walking slowly around the desk and taking Martin's hands into his own. "We can't just walk away from this. If- if you love me, and I love you, then surely -  _ surely  _ \- we can do something about it. We can- we can get away, we can get a  _ happy ending.” _

“Jon…” Martin's voice was small. This was everything he had ever wanted - more, in fact, he'd never dared dream he would be Jon's  _ happy ending, _ even if he did return Martin's feelings. But he couldn't accept it. “If I leave, the world ends.”

“Fuck the world.”

Jon spoke so bluntly it took Martin a moment to process what he'd said. 

“Wait, wh-”

“You’re all I care about, Martin.  _ Please, _ come with me.” Jon squeezed his hands, earnest and hopeful. "If the world ends, the world ends. At least we'll face it together."

"Not like we'll be able to see it coming." The quip slipped free before he could stop it. Jon smiled, eyes sparkling.

Martin took a deep breath. He  _ really  _ didn't want to decide the fate of the world right now. So instead, he focused on the small things: Jon's smile, the warmth of his hands around Martin's. The faint scent of old paper that drifted from his sweater, and the cadence of his voice on those five small words:  _ I'm in love with you. _

"Alright." Martin nodded quickly, squeezing Jon's hands back. "I'll do it. I'll go with you."

"You  _ will?" _ There was genuine shock in Jon's voice. Martin laughed. 

"Yeah. Yeah, Jon, I- I'll gouge out my eyes with you. I'm sure it'll be very romantic."

Jon lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Martin in a crushing bear hug. Martin gasped at the suddenness of the contact - he hadn't exactly been around a lot of people recently, let alone received physical displays of affection from them. Jon's arms were bony and weak, but he was leaning into Martin with the entirety of his being, and Martin leaned back, drawing Jon close, breath stuttering in his chest.

They didn't move for almost a full minute; when Jon started to draw back Martin let go reluctantly, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

"Yeah." He repeated, blinking rapidly and sniffling. "I'm not going to leave you. Not again."

"Martin..." Jon lifted a hand to his cheek, brushing at the tears. Martin leaned into the touch, sighing.

"I'm fine, Jon. Just- just a bit overwhelmed? This is- I mean,  _ you  _ are- It's just a lot, you know?"

"I know." Jon's fingers curled against his face, gentle and inquiring. "Will it be too much if I kiss you, on top of everything else?"

Martin could have sworn his heart stopped in his chest. His voice came out breathy. "Please do."

Despite the confidence of his question, Jon leaned in hesitantly, pausing for a moment before closing the distance between his lips and Martin's. Martin made a small sound when their lips connected, pressing forward into Jon and snaking his arms around the back of his neck. Jon sighed against his mouth, relaxing, deepening the kiss, and Martin-

Martin's thoughts were a rush of pure, formless joy, electric sparks running down his spine at the feel of Jon's lips moving against his own. At that moment, held safe in the arms of the man he loved, he couldn't imagine why he would have ever said no to Jon's offer. He didn't give two cents about the rest of the world - Jon was  _ kissing  _ him.

The moment was shattered when Jon pulled back, grinning and enthusiastic, and said, "I have a knife in my desk downstairs. I can go get it right now, we can be out of here by dinnertime."

"What?" Martin was still dazed from the kiss. He blinked, shook his head, and finally realized what Jon was talking about. “Wait. Jon, no! We need to take some time. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it the right way. There’s- there’s things I can do to make this easier for us. With my current- my position, you know. Besides, I’m not particularly eager to go ahead and stick a  _ knife  _ in my eye.”

Jon froze, a look of panic beginning to rise in his eyes. “B-but you said-”

“I’m not backing out, Jon. We’re doing this.” He gave Jon a reassuring look, placed a hand on his arm. “I just think we might be able to get some help? You know, find a surgeon, or something?”

“Oh.” Jon relaxed again, leaning into Martin’s touch. “Where on earth would we find a surgeon willing to do something like that?”

“I don’t know.” Martin bit his lip. “Maybe we could ask Daisy and Basira? I’m guessing they met all sorts when they were with the police. I don’t particularly want to do a back alley job with this, but anything’s better than doing it ourselves, you know?”

Jon nodded, conceding. “You’re probably right. At the very least they might be able to get ahold of sedatives, so we don’t have to be conscious when we… well.”

“Yeah.” Martin sighed. He wanted to leave with Jon, he  _ did, _ but... “Look, Jon… You’re sure this is the only way?”

“Yes. No.” He shook his head. “It’s the only way we have, and we – or  _ I, _ at least – don’t have time to look for another. The longer I go…  _ like this… _ the less chance I have of being able to make this choice. Let alone survive it.”

“Right.” Martin’s hand tightened on his arm. “You… I don’t want to lose you, Jon. If you think this is too dangerous…”

“I’m willing to take the risk. You deserve better than the love of a monster.”

Martin's heart broke a little, at that. He shook his head, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to Jon's lips. Jon drew in a surprised breath. 

"I'd rather love a monster than a dead man."

Jon swallowed convulsively. "You deserve-"

"I deserve to be with the one I love. And that's you, Jon. Man or monster, that's you." Even if it meant they had to stay. Even if it meant they stayed, and the world ended, and it was Martin's fault for not saving it.

Jon blinked rapidly, clearing the tears that were forming in his eyes. “I… Martin, I…”

“I know, Jon.” Martin kissed him again. “I know. But if you’re going to do this, is has to be for  _ you. _ Don’t- don’t hurt yourself for me, okay?”

“Okay.” It came out in a rough whisper. He leaned his forehead against Martin’s, bringing a hand up to cradle the back of his neck. “I need to do this, Martin. I’m willing to take the risk… for my own sake.”

Martin smiled weakly. “Then I’ll help you.”

~~~~~

Daisy did, in fact, know a back-alley surgeon who wouldn't ask too many questions about they things you wanted her to remove. She worked in a basement under the apartment she lived in, but it was clean and well-kept and apparently she hadn't had a death on the operating table in years. So that was all right.

The entire Archival group went with Jon and Martin for the operation. Daisy to provide a trustworthy face for the surgeon, Basira out of curiosity, Melanie to see what she'd be getting herself into if she went through with the procedure as well. 

She wasn't planning on making any calls until she had proof that it worked.

There were two tables set up in the basement, two IVs, two sets of sterilized equipment. Jon shuddered convulsively upon seeing them; Martin gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. 

"You sure you're up for this?"

"Yes." Jon leaned into his shoulder, soaking in the warmth of his presence, thinking about how close he had come to losing it forever. He hadn't been lying, when he said he was doing this for his own sake. For his own sake, he needed to be human enough to be worthy of Martin. "Let's do this."

The surgeon gestured them to the operating tables, beginning to explain the procedure to Melanie as Daisy and Basira looked on. They'd have to leave once the operation began, of course, but they'd asked to stick around while Jon and Martin went under. Jon had a sneaking suspicion it was in order to make sure he didn't run.

Martin's eyes began to get the same nervous panic in them as Jon was feeling.

"It should be alright," he said. "I've secured us both compensation for injury on the job, and some hefty severance pay since, well, it's technically going to be the  _ Beholding  _ firing  _ us  _ for not being useful anymore, not us quitting? So we'll have plenty of time to adjust to- to  _ this, _ before we have to worry about finding work. Perks of practically running the Institute, yeah?" He laughed nervously. Jon reached over to grab his hand.

"Martin. You don't have to do this. You can still back out. I won't blame you."

_ "No." _ His voice was firm. "I'm doing this with you."

"Okay." Jon squeezed his hand. "It'll be alright, Martin. We'll work things out. Together."

"Yeah," Martin sighed, squeezing Jon's hand back and smiling a bit. "Yeah."

The surgeon came over, fitting an IV to first Jon's arm, then Martin's. Martin glanced away as the needle went into his skin, seeking out Jon's eyes for reassurance. His own were dark and shining, beautiful in a way Jon hadn't noticed until it was far too late. Still. Better to lose that forever than to lose Martin himself.

The surgeon began counting back from thirty, marking time until the sedative took effect. Martin draw in a deep breath.

"Hey, Jon? I love you."

Jon smiled at him, imprinting his face into memory. Darkness was starting to creep in at the edges of his vision. "I love you too, Martin."

His last sight was Martin's face, smiling back at him.

~~~~~

When he woke, it was dark. No, not just dark: it was  _ nothing. _

Jon lifted a hand to his face. His eyes were covered in a soft gauze, and the skin underneath was numb. Which, well… probably wasn’t a bad thing. 

So far, so good. He’d been blindfolded before; not being able to see when he  _ couldn’t even open his eyes _ wasn’t anything to panic over. 

He focused on the room around him. Quiet hum of machinery, buzz of electric lights, what sounded like someone typing on a keyboard somewhere to his right. Normal. Calming.

Back to his own body: heart still beating, breath rushing in and out. Whatever effect cutting the Beholding out of him was going to have on him clearly wasn’t instant death. Tugging on his right arm where the IV was taped, left still up by his face. Thoughts oddly relaxed, probably due to the sedatives lingering in his system. Numb face, already noted. Overall-

Overall. 

_ Overall, _ he felt like an enormous weight had been lifted, one he hadn’t even realized he was carrying. And it wasn’t just due to the strange hollowness around his eye sockets.  _ Something  _ was gone, something so omnipresent he could barely put a name to it anymore. The Jonathan Sims of two years ago would probably have said it was the feeling of being  _ watched. _ He could remember saying as much, confessing his paranoia while Jane Prentiss waited outside the door, could remember the exasperation practically radiating off of Mar-

“Martin?” Jon’s voice came out in a reedy croak. The typing stopped. “Where’s Martin?”

“Still asleep.” The surgeon’s voice, accompanied by the creak of a chair. “To your left. You’ll be able to reach him without too much trouble, but try not to jostle him too much. He’ll wake up when he wakes up.”

Jon stretched out his left hand. Before his arm was even fully extended his fingers brushed against warm fabric, and he clutched at Martin’s arm, breathing a sigh of relief.

“He’s alright, then?”

“Yeah. So are you, by the way.” There was a note of amusement in her voice.

Jon scoffed. “I knew  _ that.” _

“Did you, now?”

“Yes, I-” Jon stopped. There was something else missing, something greater even than the constant eyes following his every movement. “…No. I didn’t know. But I feel okay.”

“Well, you look like death warmed over.” The chair creaked again, and footsteps started to move across the room. “I’ll go tell your friends you’re awake.”

A door opened; closed. Jon was left in silence, listening to the lights, the machinery, his own breathing. Now that he was listening for it, he could hear Martin’s as well, reassuring and regular. He was-

He didn’t  _ know. _ That scared him far more than the simple lack of seeing. He’d gotten so used to the ambient knowledge, the background hum of thoughts and feelings from the people around him, the steady stream of random facts about the world in general. It was… gone. Without it Jon felt adrift, untethered, disconnected from the world around him. He was trapped in his own mind, with only his own thoughts to guide him, and it was… terrifying.

But added to that, lurking behind the terror, was an immense, overwhelming,  _ peace. _ He didn’t…  _ need  _ to know. The insatiable hunger that had been driving him, that had been gnawing away at his being, at his very sense of  _ self, _ was... gone. And Jon felt more free - more  _ human  _ \- than he had in years. 

He was still weak, of course, and hungry. But it wasn't the kind of hunger that pulling out other people's trauma could satisfy. It was just... malnutrition. And exhaustion. It was  _ ordinary. _

The arm under his hand twitched. Martin was waking up.

He made a small sound, shifting again, then mumbled, "Jon?"

"I'm here." Jon squeezed his arm.

"Where...?" Martin stiffened, his voice suddenly sounding much more awake. "Oh, god. Jon. I can't see."

Jon ran his hand up and down Martin's arm as far as he could reach, an attempt at a soothing gesture. "That  _ was  _ the idea."

Martin laughed, on the edge of hysteria. "It's a bit different when it's actually  _ happened." _ He fell silent, breathing heavily. After a few moments he relaxed, ever so slightly. "Jon, I'm not being watched."

"I know." Jon squeezed his arm again. "My neither. And I- I don't feel-" he paused, ran his tongue across dry lips. "Martin, I think I'm human again." 

Martin shifted, and suddenly his hand was covering Jon's on his arm. "It worked?"

Jon nodded, unseeing and unseen. "It worked."

"Ask me a question." Martin's voice was excited, anticipatory. Jon frowned.

"What?"

"Ask me a question, and I'll try not to answer."

"Oh." Jon thought for a moment. "Have you ever been scared of me?"

He waited. Martin was silent.

"Well," he said after a moment. "I guess it worked."

He could hear Martin's smile. "Yeah. It worked. Jon, this is..."

"I know. Or, rather, I don't, and it's wonderful."

"Yeah..." Martin's voice turned serious. "But, Jon, just so you know... I haven't."

"Haven't what?"

"Been scared of you." Martin squeezed his hand.  _ "For _ you, yeah, all the time, but not  _ of  _ you. I mean, if you exclude being afraid you'd fire me for my CV. But that was more of a generalized apprehension of anyone in a position to call me on that, not you in specific."

Jon laughed softly. "Yeah. I could see that." He knew Martin couldn't see his face, so he tried to make his voice as warm and sincere as possible. "Thank you, Martin. That- that means a lot."

They fell silent, holding hands. After a few minutes a door opened, squeaking on its hinges, and multiple pairs of footsteps entered the room. 

"Oh, you're both awake. Good." Basira's voice, brusque and businesslike. "Did it work?"

"Yes." Jon's voice overlapped with Martin's; he stopped, tapped Martin's shoulder to cede the floor.

Martin cleared his throat. "Yeah, it worked. I don't feel anything from the Beholding, and Jon can't compel me to answer his questions anymore."

"You sure about that?"

"Would you rather I tried it on you?"

Basira paused at the question, then said, slowly and deliberately, "Yes." She waited a moment. "...Well, it looks like I can lie to you, so I'm taking that as proof. Welcome back to humanity."

"Thanks." Jon finally let go of Martin's shoulder, trying to push himself into a sitting position. "It's remarkably exhausting."

"Does it hurt?" This from Melanie.

"What?"

"Does. It. Hurt. Your face, your eyes, getting cut off from the Beholding. What am I in for, here? I'm asking you too, Martin."

"It's... weird." Jon said, and Martin followed with: "I'm mostly numb, but it'll probably hurt later. Being separated from the Beholding, though... no. That feels good. It's- yeah. It's good."

"Alright, then." Her voice started to grow more distant. "I'm off to have a chat with the Doc. Let me know if you need help getting these two to the car."

"Car?" Fabric shifted, and Martin's voice rose a few feet as he pushed himself up. "Are we leaving?  _ Now?" _

"Yeah." Daisy joined the conversation. "The Doc doesn't like people sticking around. She's given us all the instructions for your recovery, and I'll keep in touch with her about your progress in case anything goes wrong. Other than that, her part in this ends here. On your right, Jon." Daisy gave the warning as her voice moved, and Jon stayed still as she carefully removed the IV from his arm. He could hear Basira next to Martin, doing the same. "It's what you get when you go to someone off the books. She's not a hack job, but you lose a lot of the follow up. On your feet, now."

"I'm not sure if I can stand."

"We'll help. Come on-" Basira's voice cut off in a huff of breath, quickly changing into a "Steady, steady..."

"I think I'm good!" Martin's voice, surprised and smiling. "As long as I can lean on you. How are you doing, Jon?"

"Uh... give me a moment..."

Daisy's arm looped around his waist, and Jon had to bite back a cry as he was lifted almost bodily from the operating table. She set him gently on the ground, giving him a moment to steady himself. His legs shook, still weak from sedatives and the aftereffects of everything he'd been through with the Beholding, but Daisy's arm around his shoulders kept him standing.

"Okay, I'm good. I- I did  _ not  _ realize how strong Daisy was, but I'm good."

Daisy laughed. "You're a featherweight, Jon, it's not too difficult." Then her voice softened. "Come on. Let's get you two home."

~~~~~

By the end of the first week they were weaning off the painkillers. Martin's recovery was going faster than Jon's, as he didn't have the extra physical damage to overcome, but both of them were progressing better than they could have hoped. 

Indeed, despite the bandages and the residual bleeding and the darkness, Jon felt better than he had in years. That first morning, waking up from a dreamless sleep with Martin by his side, he'd almost sobbed in relief. 

They were staying with Georgie, for now, and with Melanie joining them five days after they arrived it was crowded. They needed help while they adjusted, though, and Georgie didn't seem to mind. There was a fierce pride in her voice whenever she talked about what they had done, about how they had gotten  _ out. _ Jon smiled, and said he’d taken the advice of a good friend who had recommended he take his second chance.

Daisy and Basira stopped by a few times, but they didn't stick around. Daisy had her own issues to be dealing with, after all, and Basira was putting everything into helping her. Besides, with no Archivist around the Institute was becoming a very interesting place indeed. 

~~~~~

Two weeks out and Jon and Martin were attempting to get by on their own. Martin still technically had the lease on his flat, even if he hadn't been there much in recent months, and the crowding at Georgie's was becoming more apparent as her patients became more confident in their own mobility instead of just sitting on the couch all day. 

It didn't go...  _ too  _ terribly. Georgie, Daisy and Basira all spent a day helping them come up with little tactile markers to put on various things they might not be able to recognize by touch alone - Martin's toothbrush, for instance, was given a smooth piece of tape around the handle, while Jon's was wrapped in an elastic band.

Basira had purchased at least a dozen smoke detectors when Jon said he was determined to cook for himself, and Martin fumbled around in the hall closet for a minute before pulling out an old fire extinguisher.

"Always knew this would come in handy again." 

Jon grabbed his hand, kissing him on the cheek so he could feel his smile.

~~~~~

On the third week, the living room filled with cold, damp fog, and Peter Lukas appeared with a rush of air and a smile you could hear in every word he said. 

“Well  _ done, _ Martin. Finding ways around the system, very clever of you.”

Martin froze. He’d been on his way to the kitchen, testing his ability to cross the room without relying on a hand on the wall to guide him, and he’d been doing a fairly good job of it, too. One stubbed toe on the coffee table, but otherwise remarkably few stumbles. Now, however, with the fog rising, the room felt empty and expansive in a way it never had before. He shivered. Logically, of course, he knew he was still in the living room, but it felt as though the walls had vanished, leaving him open and exposed. 

“What do you want, Peter?” He kept his voice sharp and clear. Best not to show his fear.

“Just to congratulate you is all.” Footsteps, too loud for the soft carpet Martin knew was underfoot. “You beat the Eye. That takes some doing, I don’t mind telling you.”

“Thank you.” He tried not to step back; twitched slightly with the effort. The footsteps stopped. 

“No, thank  _ you, _ Martin. I haven’t seen Elias so off temper in years.” He sighed happily. “Of course, it wasn’t  _ just  _ the Eye you were bound to, now was it?”

“No, it was.” Martin lifted his chin, going for a defiant expression. The effect was probably lost with the bandage still covering half his face, but it was the thought that counted. “I may have worked for you, but I was never bound to the Lonely.”

“And yet you were so, so susceptible to it.” A cold breeze brushed past Martin’s face. A hint of sadness crept into Peter’s voice, threatening in how false Martin knew it to be. “This can’t helping with that, can it? It must be oh so lonely, lost in the dark…”

Martin took a deep breath, inhaling fog and chill. "Not really." There was a sudden clatter from the other room; Jon's voice, cursing, and a call of  _ Martin? Can you come here a minute? _ "I've actually been in quite good company." A warm, dry draft began to undercut the fog, seeping up from the ground and burning it away.

Peter drew in a sharp breath. "You brought him with you."

"You didn't know?" Martin raised a eyebrow, feeling it peak above the edge if the bandage. 

"I haven't been around much." He paused for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was quietly impressed. "I underestimated you, Martin.”

“Yeah. People tend to do that.”

A soft huff of laughter. "Indeed. Still. Are you really willing to risk the end of the world? For this?"

Martin crossed his arms. "See, I've been thinking about that. I don't think I am risking it. You may have underestimated me, but... I don't plan on underestimating you. You've got a backup plan. You must."

Peter hmmed. "Yes, but he's far more difficult to convince than you are. Well, I suppose I have no choice, if you're truly stuck on...  _ domesticity." _ He spoke the word with distaste.

"I am."

"Shame. You'd have made a great addition to the family." He sighed, voice turning brisk. "Well. If he ever leaves you, you know where the Estate is. Feel free to drop on by at any time; I'm sure no one will even notice you're there."

"Thanks." It came out sour; Peter chuckled.

"I suppose this is farewell, then. Be seeing you."

Martin waited. Nothing else happened. 

"Peter?"

No response as the room slowly started to creep back up to a reasonable temperature. He was gone, then.

Martin turned, reaching out for the back of the sofa to help guide him to the other room.

"Jon? I'm coming. What did you knock over?"

~~~~~

Two weeks after that the news reported a sinkhole under the Magnus Institute that claimed a whole wing of the building. A tragic accident, but fortunately no lives were lost due to it being after business hours. In an unrelated event, it appeared one Elias Bouchard had escaped from prison the same night. Authorities were unsure how he managed it, and did not know what to make of the clinging fog lingering in the corners of his cell. No sign of him had been found since. 

The next morning Basira sent out a text to Jon, Martin, and Melanie to confirm that she and Daisy hadn't been in the Institute, and were safe. They'd found somewhere to lay low, and were in the process of making new arrangements. She didn't respond to the follow up texts they sent her, asking for details.

~~~~~

Six months into their new reality, and the former Archival staff were going job hunting. Not that they needed to, not yet - Martin had set them up  _ well  _ \- but none of them wanted to leave it until they were desperate.

Melanie was reconnecting with various people from her past, searching for leads to break back into the entertainment business; Georgie was not-so-secretly dropping hints about bringing on a co-host.

Jon and Martin had taken the more mainstream route of connecting with an agency that specialized in finding job openings that would accept blind applicants, and the potentials looked good.

They went out for a celebratory dinner soon after, the four of them. Martin spent most of the evening with his hand wrapped around Jon's, a smile on his face as he listened to the conversation flowing around him, interjecting occasionally to make a point or tell a joke. It felt so...  _ normal, _ sitting there with all of them, surrounded by friendship and love. 

It didn't instantly erase the effects of years of trauma and misery, of course. Nothing could. But he realized that for the first time in... ever, really ...he wasn't afraid it was going to go away. The happiness didn't feel transient, didn't feel like it was about to be snatched away from him to plunge him back into despair.

Martin smiled, squeezing Jon's hand. For the first time, he let himself truly accept the simple fact: they were free.

~~~~~

One year after changing their lives irrevocably, Jon was on his knees in front of Martin, gripping his hand desperately, words coming in fits and starts as he was slowly overcome with emotion.

Martin dropped to his knees as well, sweeping Jon into his arms. "Yes, Jon," he said, choking back a sob. "Yes, I'll marry you."

~~~~~

Five years later and two service dogs slumbered peacefully under the table as Georgie proposed a toast to seized opportunities and fresh starts. Four wine glasses were raised; three voices chorused a "Hear hear!"; and the evening passed with scant regard for early working hours or reasonable bedtimes.

They'd heard from Daisy and Basira the month before. The update had been hopeful: both still alive, and seeming like they would continue to be so. They didn't leave any contact information. They preferred to be the ones in control of whether or not they stayed in touch.

~~~~~

Ten years to the day since going under in that basement and waking up to eternal darkness for the first time, Jon jolted to consciousness from a deep sleep, heart racing in the quiet of his bedroom.

He blinked rapidly, letting the familiar darkness erase the trace images that remained from his nightmare. It was a not infrequent occurrence, but that didn't make it any more pleasant.

He reached a hand out in the blackness, feeling along the covers for the presence he knew would be there. After a moment his hand found Martin's arm; he breathed a sigh of relief, finally relaxing.

Martin made a sleepy noise, turning over and grabbing hold of Jon's hand. 

"Something wrong?" The words were slurred with tiredness. 

"Nothing." Jon turned on his side to face Martin. "Just- just a nightmare. Sorry for waking you."

"Hmmm..." Martin dropped Jon's hand in favor of draping his arm around his shoulder, gently tugging him closer. "Come here."

Jon scooted closer, letting Martin draw him to his chest and resting his head against the soft fabric of his pajamas. He could feel Martin's heartbeat, and hear the slow, relaxed rhythm of his breaths.

Martin's arm grew heavier over his shoulder, and Jon smiled as he realized Martin had fallen asleep again. He focused on his breathing, bringing his own into line with it: deep, steady, calm. Soon enough he felt that same heaviness take hold in his own limbs, dragging him back down into unconsciousness. He went willingly, nightmare already forgotten in the comforting warmth of his husband's arms.


End file.
